7.
A traveler, the highway my guide,
And a little bastard of a dog
My friend. I have pin-ups for passion
As
I go moseying about these scenes,
Myself improbable as yucca,
Illusory as the bright desert,
And finally here: the surf breaking,
Repetitive and varied as love
Enacted, and inevitably
The last rim of sunset on the sea.
8.
In a few days now when two memories meet
In that place of disease, waste, and desire,
Where forms receptive, featureless, and vast
Find occupation, in that narrow dark,
That warm sweat of a carnal tenderness,
What figure in the pantheon of man,
What demon is our god? What shall we call him?
Not pleasure-it is much too broad and narrow-,
Not sex, not for the moment love, but pride,
And not in prowess, but pride undefined,
Repetitive in its unthought demands,
A bit of vanity, but mostly pride.
J. V.
Cunningham
